Chapter 7 Maddie
I spend the morning after my dramatic exit from Enzo's villa doing what I do best when faced with impossible problems: making lists and researching solutions.
The debt situation is mathematically impossible. Even if I could find work immediately, fifty-eight thousand euros would take me literally decades to pay off. And that's assuming I could find work in a tiny Sicilian village where I don't speak the language and have no legal right to employment.
But I didn't come here to give up at the first sign of difficulty.
I sit in my broken kitchen with my notebook, a cup of instant coffee made with bottled water, and my determination to figure this out. There has to be a solution that doesn't involve either becoming Enzo's indentured servant or fleeing the country like a criminal.
That's when inspiration strikes.
The village is gorgeous. Absolutely, authentically, Instagram-perfectly gorgeous.
And it's completely underdeveloped from a tourism perspective.
No hotels, no tour guides, no organized activities.
Americans would pay thousands of dollars for the kind of authentic Italian experience this place could provide.
I start scribbling notes faster than my pen can keep up. Cooking classes with local grandmothers, wine tastings featuring regional varieties, boat tours to hidden coves, historical walking tours, artisan craft experiences.
The more I think about it, the more excited I get. This isn't just a solution to my debt problem—it's a way to help the entire village. I've seen the empty houses, the struggling businesses, the young people who probably leave because there are no opportunities here.
Tourism could change everything.
And if I could prove to Enzo that I can generate real revenue for the village, maybe we could work out an arrangement. A percentage of tourism profits applied to the debt. A partnership instead of whatever twisted deal he has in mind.
I spend the rest of the morning walking around the village, taking notes and photos, talking to anyone who speaks enough English to understand my questions. By lunchtime, I have the bones of a real business plan.
Now I just need to present it to the scariest businessman in Sicily.
I decide my first order of business should be making a good impression. In my experience, successful negotiations depend on establishing rapport first.
A little gesture goes a long way in building goodwill.
I walk into the village and stop by the café, where I use my limited Italian and enthusiastic pointing to order an assortment of pastries and a thermal carafe of their excellent espresso.
The older women working behind the counter seem delighted by my efforts at the language and pack everything into a beautiful wicker basket.
They even add extra pastries, which I take as a good sign.
By the time I reach Enzo's office building, I'm practically bubbling over with excitement about my business proposal. An intimidating receptionist sits at her desk, and she looks up when I enter with my basket of goodies.
"Good morning!" I say brightly.
I hold up the basket and she stares at it like I'm offering her a live snake.
"Signor Benedetti?" I ask.
I can hear voices through Enzo's partially open door. Several male voices speaking in low, tense tones. Perfect timing. Maybe a coffee break will put everyone in a better mood for my presentation.
She says something rapid in Italian that sounds like a warning, but I'm already heading down the hallway. Sometimes it's better to ask forgiveness than permission. I'm sure he won't mind if I interrupt when he sees I brought goodies.
I knock briefly and push open the door with my hip, balancing the basket carefully.
"Hi! Good morning! I brought coffee and pastries for everyone!" I announce cheerfully, stepping into the room with my biggest smile.
The conversation stops instantly.
Enzo is behind his desk, but this time there are four men sitting across from him. Not well-dressed business associates. These men look harder, more dangerous. One has visible scars running down his neck. Another has hands that look like they've been broken and healed wrong multiple times.
And all of them are staring at me like I've just sprouted a second head.
"Oh," I say, suddenly aware that the atmosphere in the room is much more tense than I realized. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were in an important meeting."
Enzo's face is completely expressionless. "Madison," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "Leave. Now."
But I'm already committed to the gesture, and backing down now would make this even more awkward.
"It’s fine! I won’t stay but a minute. Everyone needs coffee," I say, moving toward the desk with determined cheer. "I got an assortment from the café. Cannoli, sfogliatelle, some things I can't pronounce but they smell amazing."
I start unpacking the basket, very aware that the silence in the room has become deafening.
"There's plenty for everyone," I continue, because talking fills the horrible quiet. "Food brings people together, right?"
One of the men says something sharp in Italian. I don't understand the words, but the tone makes it clear he's not interested in pastries.
"Who is this bitch?" another one asks in broken English, and I definitely understood this time.
"The americana doesn't understand Italian," the first man says in heavily accented English, and there's something in his voice that makes me uncomfortable.
"I understand enough," I say brightly, though that's a complete lie. "Would anyone like espresso? It's still hot."
I start pouring coffee into the small cups I brought, determined to salvage this situation through sheer force of will.
"Madison." Enzo's voice cuts through my nervous chattering, low and deadly. "Put down the fucking coffee. Walk to the door. Leave. Now."
The profanity in his controlled voice makes me freeze with the carafe halfway to a cup.
"We’re not done here, Benedetti," the scarred man says, and his English carries the unmistakable weight of a threat.
"Yeah, we are." Enzo stands slowly, and something in his posture makes all four men go very still. "For today."
"Maybe the americana should stay," the third man suggests with a lewd smile that makes my skin crawl. "She can provide service or coffee while we finish talking."
The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees.
"Maybe," Enzo says quietly, "you should remember where you are and who you're talking to."
The words are soft, but they carry more menace than any shouting could. This is a different Enzo than the one who argued with me yesterday. This is someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.
The men stare at each other for a long moment, some kind of silent communication happening that I'm definitely not part of. Finally, the scarred man stands up.
"We'll finish this conversation another time, Benedetti. Soon."
"You know where to find me."
The men file out, and each one looks at me as they pass. Not friendly looks. Not even neutral looks. The kind of looks that make me very aware of how isolated this office is, how far I am from any kind of help.
The door closes behind them with a click that sounds final.
Enzo and I stand in the sudden silence, the basket of pastries sitting between us like evidence of my complete inability to read a situation.
"Well," I say weakly, trying for humor. "That escalated quickly. Would you like a cannoli? They're amazing. You should try a bite. Here, I’ll get one for you."
His expression doesn't change.
"I'm sorry if I—"
He moves faster than I expect, crossing the room in three quick steps and backing me up against the wall beside his door. His hands slam against the stone on either side of my head, caging me in.
"Do you have any fucking idea what you just walked into?" he asks, his voice low and rough with barely controlled fury.
"I brought coffee," I say stupidly, because my brain has completely short-circuited from the combination of his proximity and the danger radiating off him.
"You brought coffee to a sit-down with men who've killed for less than the disrespect you just showed them."
"Killed?" The word squeaks out.
"Those men came here to discuss territory. To decide who controls what and what happens to people who cross lines." His voice drops to a whisper. "They were deciding whether people live or die, and you walked in uninvited offering them goddamn pastries."
I stare up at him, the full implications starting to sink in. "Are you saying they're—"
"I'm saying you just interrupted a conversation that could've ended with bodies in the harbor." His eyes are deadly serious. "And your little coffee service might've saved lives or gotten people killed. We won't know which until later. Jesus Christ, Madison! What were you thinking?"
"Oh God." My voice comes out as barely a whisper. "Did I make it worse?"
Something flickers across his face. "They were pushing boundaries they shouldn't push. Your interruption gave me a reason to end the meeting before anyone said something that couldn't be taken back."
"Maybe I helped then?" I’m trying to save this situation as best I can.
"You got lucky. This time." His face is inches from mine. "Next time, you might not walk out of a room like that. Never pull a stunt like this ever again. Do you understand?"
I try to process this information, but it's like my brain is trying to understand a foreign language. "You're really saying those men kill people? Like, for real?"
"I'm saying this isn't your world. You think everybody's basically good. You think offering people food will make them like you." His voice turns harsh. "That kind of thinking will get you hurt here. They tolerated your interruption only because I allowed it. Not because they liked you. If I’d frowned, if I’d nodded once, they would’ve dragged you out into the street and done God knows what to you. "
He's right. All of it. I do think those things.
"Then tell me what kind of world this is here," I say quietly. "Help me understand. Because you’re right, I’m nice. I smile a lot, I’m friendly. It’s an American thing and I can’t help it. I also talk too much, to everyone."
"Fucking hell! You don't want to understand this fucking world."
"Maybe not. But I'm stuck in it, aren't I? Because of that idiotic debt."
Something dangerous shifts in his expression. "You're stuck because you got nowhere else to go. No money, no family help, no way home."
The blunt truth of it makes me flinch.
"Teach me the rules then," I say. "If I'm going to survive here, I need to know how things work."
He stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes.
"Rule one," he says finally. "In this world, power is everything. I have all the power and you have none."
"Because of the debt?"
"Because you're in my territory, under my protection whether you like it or not, with nowhere to run." His thumb traces along the wall next to my face. "Everything you do, everywhere you go, everyone you talk to, that's my business now."
The possessiveness in his voice should terrify me. Instead, it sends heat spiraling through my body.
"Rule two," he continues. "Respect isn’t earned through kindness here. It's earned through strength. And the fear of consequences."
"What kind of consequences?"
"The kind that make people disappear."
The casual way he says it makes my breath catch.
"And rule three," he says, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Every choice you make from now on affects whether you live or die. Including walking into my office uninvited."
"Isn’t that a little over-the-top for a mid-morning coffee break? I was trying to do something nice."
He lets out a tired sigh and steps back, leaving me cold against the wall.
"Go home, Madison. Think about what happened here."
"Enzo—"
"Go. Before I decide you're more damn trouble than you're worth."
The threat is soft but unmistakable.
I gather up my basket of increasingly ridiculous pastries and head for the door on unsteady legs. At the threshold, I turn back.
"I still want to talk to you about my business proposal."
"Your what?" he almost shouts.
"Tourism. For the village. I have a plan that could generate real revenue and help everyone." I take a breath. "Maybe enough to work off the debt."
"For fuck’s sake! Do you have a death wish?”
“You’ll think about it then?” I ask.
“Yes, if you’ll please just fucking go!”
I nod and flee his office, my heart pounding with equal parts fear and something I don't want to examine too closely.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?